


Freedom Is Life's Great Lie

by amberfox17



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Evil!SHIELD, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loki is a clever bastard, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Pseudo-Incest, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:31:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberfox17/pseuds/amberfox17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thor fell to Earth he was quickly picked up by SHIELD as an extra-terrestial and held for 'questioning', alongside other superhumans and would-be superheroes. Months later, a broken, battered and desperate Thor sees a new captive being brought to the cells: a calm and smirking Loki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr-inspired ficlet at [marty-mc's](http://marty-mc.tumblr.com/) prompting and based on [black-nata's gifset](http://black-nata.tumblr.com/post/18504345114) and [takemetothedungeons' tags](http://takemetothedungeons.tumblr.com/post/56524996299): #shield capturing superbeings instead of making them into teams #thor has been imprisoned for a while #when loki appears #is he there against his will or is it a plot to get thor out? #or to make sure he never gets out? 
> 
> Very very vague and handwavy torture and violence and mindfuckery ahead!

Thor does not look up at first. The heavy tread of well-armed guards and the softer, reluctant shuffle of manacled feet is far too familiar to warrant much interest.

He remembers little of arriving on Midgard: he had fallen, he had crashed into the desert; small and fluttering creatures had tried to soothe him and then abruptly turned the lightning on him, an outrage. He had slept and woke and fought and been overcome yet again by mortals; this repeated, he thinks, perhaps in different rooms and with different captors, but it is all a blur until at last he woke here, in this bright and exposed cell.

Alien, they called him. Where are you from? they asked. How did you get here? When with the others come? How strong are your armies? How strong are your species? How do you heal so fast and endure for so long? Why do you look like one of us? How do you speak our language? Have you been watching us? What do you mean to do to the people of Earth?

He had not understood at first. He had fought and screamed and tried to call Mjolnir, over and over. He had attacked the guards, the interrogators, the healers who cared more for taking him apart than putting him back together. He had remained stubbornly silent under their questioning, then furiously defiant. How dare they do this to the Son of Odin!

It had not lasted. His great strength had been lost with Mjolnir and even if it had not, the skills of the shadowy men and women with their insistent questions and cruel hands would have broken him in the end. Being stripped of his power only made it happen sooner. Perhaps that was a blessing.

He had raged for so long. He had wept and he had pleaded. He had called out for Father, Mother, Brother, Heimdall, his friends, the Einherjar, someone, anyone.

No-one came. Slowly the truth seeped in. He was forsaken. Forgotten. Alone. Everyone he had ever loved, everyone he had ever known, had turned their backs on him, left him to die here on Midgard, broken and battered and unworthy.

Of course, he had not been literally alone in this great and shining prison. There were others here then. He had not been able to speak to them, but had seen them enough to know them. A warrior, who stood tall and defiant, right to the end. A shapeshifter, whose transformation from anxious man to roaring monster seemed not under his control. A man with a light in his chest and silvery scars that grew across his throat and neck until he gasped and shook and convulsed, and then, and only then, would the guards appear with some kind of potion that washed the stain from his skin for a few more days.

There had been different guards as well, one woman with fiery hair who watched and listened and was never, ever fooled, and a two men, one who liked to sit up high and make quips, never flinching from what was done but never enjoying it and another, laconic but fair, his movements precise, hurting no more than he had to, but no less either.

They were all gone now. He does not know exactly what happened, but one day, while he was being worked on in the large surgical hall, the alarms had sounded and the guards had rushed in and there had been pandemonium. Later, the shadowy figures asked him the same questions over and over: How had they plotted together? What was their plan? Would he try the same?

He had no answers. That only meant it took them longer to be satisfied.

Now he sits and waits, grateful that he is, at this moment, allowed to sit and wait. The poor soul that has been captured today means little to him, except the chance that he will be left alone for longer while they play with their latest prize.

But then he feels the lightest of touches brush across his hand and his head snaps up.

 _Loki_.

His brother is surrounded by heavily armed and protected guards who herd him inexorably towards the waiting cell, but Loki does not seem afraid or angry, merely calm and curious, his gaze sliding over Thor with barely a flicker of interest.

All of Thor’s old fury rises up in a heartbeat and he surges to his feet, roaring with anger, striking out at the glass with a clenched fist. They have his brother! They will hurt him as they have hurt Thor! _This must not be!_

But the guards do not so much as look at him. Their leader, another one-eyed man that Thor has learnt to fear, is waiting and as the door of the cell glides shut behind his brother, he begins to speak to Loki, who tilts his head and listens silently.

Thor pounds on the glass frantically. “Brother!” he cries. “Loki!”

“I am here, Thor.”

Thor whirls and Loki is standing behind him. Thor reaches for him, desperately afraid this is all an illusion but his hands meet flesh and armour and he cannot repress a sob.

“You came,” he says, tears pouring down his cheeks. “You came for me.”

“Of course,” Loki says. “I am only sorry it has taken me so long. It has been a difficult time in Asgard.”

“The Frost Giants?” Thor says, hands clutching at Loki harder. “An invasion?”

“An assassination,” Loki says solemnly. “Father is dead.”

“What?” Thor whispers, stunned.

“After your banishment, Father fell into the Odinsleep. It was all too much for him. I did what I could to protect the realm, but somehow Laufey managed to find a way in and slew our father in his sleep.”

“Mother?”

“Mother lives, but she was grievously wounded. The healers placed her in a healing trance, and so the burden of the throne fell to me.”

Loki steps closer and places a hand on Thor’s shoulder.

“Fear not, brother. I have avenged Father as you would have done. Jotunheim is destroyed.”

“Destroyed?” Thor says numbly, barely able to speak. He has done this. If he had not gone to Jotunheim – if he had been in Asgard to defend Father –

“Obliterated,” Loki says and there is a gleam in his eye Thor has never seen before. “I turned the full power of the Bifrost on that miserable, frozen wasteland, and it has been reduced to ash and rubble. The monsters are gone. Forever.”

Loki pauses but Thor is too shocked to speak. Jotunheim…is gone? The entire realm and all her inhabitants? It is not something Thor had ever considered. It seems…wrong, somehow, and yet…

“Heimdall was also injured in the attack,” Loki continues. “You can imagine the confusion, the unrest. I have only just been able to take the throne and search for you. For all this time…we had thought you quite safe on Midgard. We had no idea what was happening to you.”

Loki looks into his eyes, radiating concern and love.

“I have come to take you home, brother.”

Thor breaks. His knees buckle and he falls to the ground, pulling Loki down with him. He slumps against his brother’s chest, hands fisted tightly in Loki’s clothes.

“Thank you,” he gasps, body racked with sobs. “Thank you for coming for me.”

Loki lets the storm of his weeping pass, gently running his fingers through Thor’s hair, teasing out the mats.

“But there is one condition,” he says softly, his breath ghosting across Thor’s face. “Asgard is…unsettled. The Allfather’s last command was to cast you out. Mother cannot act as arbitrator. If I, as King, bring you home, where does that leave the succession? Does the throne belong to you…or to me?”

“What are you saying?” Thor asks, voice muffled.

“The last thing Asgard needs now is for our names to be used as an excuse for warfare,” Loki says. “I have been crowned. I have defended the realm. I am King. But there are those who will scheme and plot and try to overthrow me, and they will use you to do it. Already, Sif and the Warriors Three have tried to defy me. You have always wanted the throne, Thor. How can I be sure you will not turn against me?”

“I would not,” Thor says without hesitation. “You have come here…Loki, you have _saved_ me. What is a throne compared to a brother’s love?”

“Well said,” Loki says. “So you will swear your loyalty to me? Give me your word that you will obey me as your King?”

“I swear it,” Thor says. “You are my King.” He would say anything. He desperately wants to leave this place. He wants to go _home_. Everyone else has left him, forgotten him, abandoned him to his fate. But Loki has risked everything to come to him. He will never forget this.

“Good,” Loki says, his hand resting comfortingly on the back of Thor’s neck. “But before we leave, I have a gift for you.”

He pulls himself away and stands, leaving Thor kneeling at his feet. He passes his hands over each other and then pulls them apart and suddenly he is holding a weapon. He holds it out to Thor.

“Rise, brother,” Loki says, and his smile is as sharp and deadly as the knives he loves. “Rise and embrace your new duty.”

Thor rises and reaches for the weapon. Mjolnir was a hammer, _a tool to build with as well as to destroy_ his father had said. But this is made only for destruction and death.

Loki has given him a battle-axe. It is huge and terrible and razor sharp. Thor felts the heft and weight of it in his hand, rubs his thumb over the runes engraved on its handle and feels his true strength returning, the thunder building behind his eyes. He stands tall and proud and furious.

“My executioner,” Loki says fondly as he shimmers, his helm and Gungnir flickering into his hands. “Shall we show these mortals what happens when they dare to lay hands on a god?”

“Yes,” Thor snarls, bloodlust singing in his veins, and smashes the glass of the cell with a single mighty blow.

The mortals are turning, shocked, as the silent illusion in the other cell fades away and they are faced with the fury of the Sons of Odin and the real power of the gods of old. Alarms scream and lights flash but for all their technology, humans are only so much meat and bone, and Thor and Loki have been killing giants and dragons and monstrous creatures for centuries.

It is glorious and wonderful and they are laughing and laughing and laughing as they stride through the complex side by side, leaving a trail of blood and carnage in their wake. When they reach the rooms in which they broke Thor he hesitates, fear and revulsion a bitter taste in his mouth, but Loki lifts his hand and helps him call down the lightning and the pure white light obliterates it all.

It takes a long time, but at last they are done. The mortals’ lair is a smoking ruin where nothing stirs. Thor drops the axe, his hands trembling. They reek of blood and gore and everyone who had shamed him is dead. He is strong and whole again and has wreaked bloody vengeance on his enemies. It is done and yet – and yet –

“I am here, brother,” Loki says, sliding one hand to the back of Thor’s neck and the other to his cheek, pulling their faces together until Loki is all that Thor can see. “I will keep you safe. Trust in me. Never doubt that I love you.”

“I love you,” Thor echoes, clinging to the sound of his brother’s voice as the only steady point in the confusion and chaos his world has become. “Loki, do not leave me. _Please_.”

“No-one shall ever take you from me again,” Loki says, his voice low and intimate. “I promise you that.” He presses a gentle kiss to Thor’s chapped lips. “You are mine now, Thor. I intend to keep you.”

Thor exhales, relief making him giddy. “I am yours,” he says and his heart aches as Loki smiles at him, pleased and possessive, as the shadows of Loki’s magic rise up and swallow them both.


	2. Chapter 2

It is over a year before they return to Midgard. Loki was right: Asgard was indeed unsettled, rocked by change that came too swift after a millennia of peace. None could understand why Thor, the golden Prince, the firstborn, the best beloved, would stand aside and let Loki have the throne. Oh, he had done well enough, people supposed, while Thor had been banished, his destruction of the greatest of Asgard’s enemies brutal but effective; but who would have Loki for their King when Thor was there, bright and shining and brave?

Thor, for one. People learnt swiftly that coming to Thor to complain and whisper and make sly suggestions of support for Loki’s overthrow is not a wise decision: for the bolder, who trapped Loki in the throne room with weapons drawn, it was their last, their eyes wide with surprise when Thor parted their heads from their bodies.

Asgard settles more quickly after that, seeing a grim and bloodied Thor standing next to Loki, axe kept sharp and ready. With the Queen so weak that it seems she will never wake, there is no-one who dares question why the elder brother defers so readily to the younger, though many remain concerned, and rumours of magic and misdeeds swirl around the throne, claiming that Loki has entrapped Thor and forces him to serve against his will.

Thor has little patience for it. Loki saved him from the hell of the mortals’ prison, handed him the instrument of his vengeance and held him when he wept. Loki alone proved true and faithful; Loki alone truly loves him. He believes this with everything he has left. If Loki wants the throne as the price of this love, he is welcome to it. Thor wishes never to be alone again.

He would die for Loki. It is a much simpler thing to kill for him.

“We must invade Midgard,” Loki announces one day. “The other realms grow restless. They do not respect us as they did the Allfather. The humans are a threat to Asgard and so must be controlled. If we conquer them now, it will serve as a sign to the other realms that the Sons of Odin are just as fearsome as their father, and so peace will be restored to all the realms.”

“I do not see why we should attack them rather than deal with the other realms,” Thor says, frowning. “They have made no move against us. They do not even believe that we exist.”

“They did not,” Loki corrects, “until you fell into their hands. You must not blame yourself, but of course, they learnt so much from you. They know everything about us. It is only a matter of time until they find a way to attack us.”

Thor is unsure. But it is true he told them everything, in the end.

“So…creative, the humans,” Loki says softly. “Clever minds, clever machines. Always talking to each other. They are dangerous, Thor. You know that. They need our rule, need our guiding hand to shelter them. It is for their own good. And ours.”

Thor remembers the small rooms and the hum of electricity, lightning tamed and twisted and contorted until it did the mortals bidding. His hands tremble.

Wordlessly, Loki hands him the axe.

“For Asgard,” Thor says.

Midgard falls easily, its leaders cowering and afraid before the might of Asgard’s armies, golden and glittering and deployed in every major population centre. Within weeks half of them are worshipping the Asgardians again, as if prayer and song and statues might serve as a better shield than the scattered armies and fragile technology had done. Loki allows it, amused, and the mortals quickly turn their ingenuity to building great monuments celebrating the majesty of their new King.

The other half prove more problematic. Midgard was easily taken but is not so easily held. The humans fight hard and though they fight with limited resources, they are astonishingly creative creatures. Thor leads sortie after sortie, hunting down the rebels through cities and jungles and deserts, destroying one desperate group after another, but they never seem to give up. They must breed like rabbits, the soldiers say, but it is easy enough hunting and gives Thor something to fill his days with.

It is strange, in fact, how often bands of rebels appear, just as Thor grows restless or filled with doubt. They often have Asgardian relics they have no hope of properly wielding, proof that there are many traitors still in Asgard, Loki says. It a sign to Thor that Loki is the only one he can really trust.

And he needs someone to trust. When the memories rise up like a tide, when someone speaks too loudly or too softly, when someone touches him or he hasn’t been touched for too long; when he starts to wonder, starts to doubt, is he dreaming, is he still there, in that cage, _waiting_ –

In the day he picks up his axe and gives the faces of his demons to those foolish enough to stand against him and he kills and he kills and he kills –

In the night he wakes screaming and Loki holds him tight, holds him down, holds him together.

He hadn’t meant to stay, the first night it happens, but when he woke sweating, his throat raw and chest heaving, all he could think to do was find Loki, because Loki would keep him safe, keep him close, he had _promised_ he would. Loki had welcomed him into his bed silently and stilled his trembling hands by covering them with his own. Thor hadn’t slept that night, but Loki’s warmth and his even heartbeat had kept him calm, kept him anchored, let him trust the feel of Loki’s skin next to his own.

He hasn’t slept in his own bed since. If anyone thinks it strange they have had the sense not to mention it around their King and his Executioner. Thor does not care what they might think. They do not know what happened to him. He has never spoken of it to anyone, and since none but Loki came for him, none but Loki know the truth of his exile on Midgard. And Loki keeps his secrets well.

Tonight, he arranges himself as close to Loki as he can, pressing his chest against Loki’s back, following the line of his body as he lays on his side. He presses his face in Loki’s hair and inhales, lets the smell and feel and reality of Loki penetrate his senses. He wraps his arms around Loki’s shoulders and Loki’s hands come up to meet him, their fingers intertwining. He is so grateful for Loki’s patience and generosity in this.

“I have been thinking of the succession,” Loki says quietly once Thor is still. “I think the realm would be more at ease if I had an heir, to ensure the future of the House of Odin.”

Thor stiffens. He does not like to think of such a future, for that would mean that Loki had died and – and – Thor could not take the throne after Loki, Thor would not be able to breathe without Loki, he can see no future, not for himself and not alone –

Loki’s fingers tighten in his and the sudden pressure brings him back. He carefully slows his breathing.

“If you think it best,” he forces out. He certainly cannot imagine taking a wife himself, could not let himself be vulnerable and alone with someone not Loki. Not anymore.

Loki twists in his arms and Thor loosens his grip so that Loki can turn to face him.

“If I were married,” he says slowly, his eyes on Thor, “we could no longer do this. Do you understand, Thor? You would have to sleep in your own bed. You could no longer stand at my side. I would have a new family. You would be alone.”

“No,” Thor gasps, panic welling up just at the thought of it. “No, Loki, you cannot, you said, you said I was _yours_ …” He is holding Loki too tightly, he must be, but he cannot seem to let go. If he lets go now he will fall, he will fall and he will never stop falling, alone in the dark…

Loki is close, so close, his breath mingling with Thor’s. Thor has to keep him.

Thor kisses him.

He does not think, he does not choose: he acts, and all he knows is that it feels right and that when Loki’s lips part under his own it feels even better.

“I love you,” Thor says frantically when they must part to breathe. “I love you and I will do anything brother, anything, please, _please_ , do not leave me.”

 “Oh, Thor,” Loki murmurs, his hands stroking lightly over Thor’s chest, his arms, his hips, “how could I ever give you up?”

That is good, that is reassuring, but fear has made a hollow in Thor’s chest and Loki’s words are not enough to fill it.

“What can I do?” he cries, looking desperately to Loki for guidance. “Tell me what I should do.”

“Love me,” Loki says and Thor does not let himself think about what he is doing, about what he has become.

“Yes, I do, I will, always” he says, babbling with relief, and lets Loki guide his hand to the hardness between his thighs. He is a little clumsy, for he has never before done this with another man, but it is a simple thing, really, to take Loki’s cock in his hand and stroke it as if it were his own, slow and then fast, Loki shuddering against him, eyes wild, his hips lifting, his mouth opening on a long, low groan as he comes, his seed staining Thor’s hands.

Thor thinks that will be the end of it, and it is a price he is all too willing to pay, but no, Loki turns to him and runs clever fingers down to his own cock. Thor is limp, as he has been ever since the mortals took him, but Loki is patient and then insistent, and he fills Thor’s ears with praise and love and promises of safety and protection and a future built  between them, only them, no-one else, and slowly, slowly Thor hardens and begins to rock into Loki’s hand, thrilling at the sound of Loki’s voice and the surety of his touch, the white-hot pleasure building and building until it breaks and he comes, the hollowness in his chest replaced with a delicious languor and the joy of Loki’s weight in his arms.

“I am yours,” he tells Loki again and again, and Loki indulges him, eyes bright.

“You are mine,” Loki says as Thor clings to him, his voice rich with triumph. “Only mine.”

Thor wakes in the morning, his heart full and his hands steady, to find Loki fully dressed, his face shadowed by his great golden helm.

“There is only one task left,” Loki tells him and Thor can only nod and obey.

They land on Midgard quietly and alone. Loki leads him unerringly to the great crater in the desert where Mjolnir rests, half-buried in debris and the ruins of the mortals’ attempt to understand her. He waits, silent, as Thor circles the hammer, his breathing too shallow for comfort.

Hours pass. Thor continues to pace. Loki waits.

At last, Thor stops.

“Bury her,” he says roughly, voice cracking. “I never want to see her again.”

Loki nod and raises his hands. The earth buckles and heaves around them and a gaping fissure opens around the fallen hammer. Mjolnir cannot be destroyed, and none but the worthy may lift her, so instead she is swallowed up by the greedy earth, sinking into the ground and out of sight.

Thor watches, tears streaming down his face. Better this than to try and lift her, better this than to prove what he already knows: he is not worthy. All that puzzles him is why anyone ever thought he was.

“Come,” Loki says when it is over. “Come with me now, Thor.”

He slips his hand into Thor’s and holds it tight. Thor follows blindly through the haze of his tears. He will go wherever his brother will lead him.


End file.
